


Maglor and the Sea

by Sylanna



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sailing To Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27059371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylanna/pseuds/Sylanna
Summary: Maglor wanders the shores of Middle-Earth for centuries, never fading, all alone. He makes an unlikely friend.
Comments: 19
Kudos: 82





	Maglor and the Sea

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [Maglor and the sea中文翻译](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29371101) by [cherrysweetie0617](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrysweetie0617/pseuds/cherrysweetie0617)



The tide was high the day Maglor became a wanderer. The day he gave up his family, his father’s legacy. The day he felt the death of his last sibling.

The wind was strong, his hair blown behind him, dancing wildly. In his hand, Maglor, once born to Fёanáro and Nerdanel, held one of his father’s creations. The third Silmaril burned his flesh and still he held on to it tight. It burned not like fire, more like acid. Maglor knew both pains. He would need to let go soon. The Oath he had once sworn was still holding him tight. On the other hand, the burning told him his quest had been moot. He had turned towards evil in the end. It was true and he deserved Varda’s punishment. So much blood his hands had spilled. First in Alqualondё, then in the Gap and later in Doriath. Sirion was the worst. Killing had become so easy. He deserved no mercy, nor the darkness of the void he had sworn himself to.

The water was licking on his boots, the sea grasping his ankles. It would be so easy to enter Ulmo’s territory and let it carry him away. Maglor thought about going those last few steps. It would be sweet release, finally rest for he was exhausted.

He did not go. Instead, he opened his hand and let the Silmaril fall. It lay in the sand, the water slowly licking at it. It’s light shone still, untainted by Maglor’s grip. By letting it go, the ellon knew he was doomed. The Oath would turn on him, but he did not care.

Maglor took a step back, his eyes still trained on the jewel. He thought for a moment about sending a prayer to Ulmo, to renounce his family’s claim again. Then he remembered his own fate and Varda’s punishment, still stinging painfully. None of the Valar would heed his pleas.

The tide took the stone away and Maglor knew he would not see it again. He turned towards east and started walking.

One week later, Maglor left his harp behind. The Silmaril had burned his right hand so badly, it would probably never be able to make music again. There was no need in carrying useless items with him. By now, thanks to his elven healing, the pain had subsided, but thick scars had grown in his palm. He had lost feeling and movement in the whole hand.

He wept as he set the instrument down for the last time. Theoretically, he could have sold it, but going near a settlement was frightening. Any of the Eldar would certainly recognize him. They would bind him and send him to the void. He did not fear death, he feared the eternal nothing. His punishment was not yet over.

The harp had once been a gift from Elrond. The peredhel had surprised him with it, after his old one had been stolen. Despite having kidnapped the children, Maglor had loved them dearly. Now he was glad they were not with him. For a last time, he stroked the engravings on the instrument. The artist had done a great work, with adding depictions of the Fёanorian star, horses and water into one cohesive piece. Maglor had loved horses, the Gap and it’s riders had been his home.

Now, only the shore remained and it took the instrument away.

Maglor began telling the sea about his long life. Purposefully, he started with taking about the Gap. It had been the place he had become who he was now. The sea answered with gentle rolling and it was enough. It was soothing. Sometimes, the sunset behind the clouds was the most beautiful thing Maglor had seen. When the sun was hidden and only her light remained, it was an eerie representation of the burning ships. At least this must be similar to what Fingolfin’s host had seen on the horizon.

Years passed and he stopped speaking to the sea. He stopped singing. Maglor, once famed for his words and songs started to forget them. Somewhere in his mind he knew this was not healthy. He kept on living. He took clothes from laundry lines of small farms and he ate whatever he found or nothing at all.

Sometimes he imagined being watched by the sea, of the waves carrying voices speaking. It was different from the sounds travellers made when they came his way. From them, he could hide. From the waters of the sea he could not.

“Maglor”, the waves whispered at night, underneath the light of Varda’s stars and the full light of Tilion.

The lonely ellon never answered, the sound alone frightened him. He feared these to be more punishment, sent by the Valar. He thought it to be strange, their interest in him, now. So much time must have passed, he knew not how many years. He could tell it must have been centuries from the weight of his legs.

This night, he did not sleep on the cold sand. Instead he climbed up a dune and laid down in the blades of grass. When he woke in the morning, the sea was licking at his boots and a storm was blowing through his unkempt hair. The spring-tide had come.

The water pulled back eventually and left some flotsam in it’s wake. Most of it was dead wood, either from ships or trees, Maglor could not tell. Among the pieces were some strange golden coins. Maglor took them and put them in his bag, he knew not why.

Two days later a vendor passed his way on the coastal street near what was now the Grey Havens. Usually Maglor kept off the street and wandered along the shore when he came into these lands, but another storm had come, forcing him to take the stone path.

“Hey traveller”, the surprisingly small vendor called to him. “You look like you could use some food!”

At least no elf, Maglor thought to himself. He needed to answer, but he could not find words within himself. He just nodded.

“For some coin, I could offer you dried meat and a loaf of bread”, the vendor said.

Maglor almost shook his head, he had no coin. Then he remembered the few golden pieces he had found at the shore, the morning after the sea had nearly killed him. With stiff fingers he unlaced his bag and pulled the pieces out.

The small person seemed more than pleased with the situation and gave Maglor the promised goods. A few minutes later, the vendor and his cart had gone out of sight, leaving the wanderer with bread, cheese and a cloth. It was the best food the lonely ellon had had since the end of the First Age. He rationed it as best he could.

The problem with tasting something as good as the bread and cheese was, the body started craving for it.

Many days later, a crate with food was found by the wanderer. Some ship must have lost the cargo and somehow the water had not destroyed the contents.

The whispering of the sea grew louder in these days. It started telling Maglor about more things than he had cared for in the last years. “Your kin is sailing.” “Ships are leaving.”

More often than not, the sea was calling him to “come home”.

Maglor did not know what he should do with these news. He could just try and wander through the main land, leave the coast, but he loved the sea, even if she frightened him sometimes. She was his home, so he did not understand the coaxing she did. He was at home where he was. The other places he called home were sunken or unreachable for him. Maybe the sea was calling him into her arms? But he was not his brother. He feared death. How long had it been that he thought last of his family, his doomed family?

Weeks later, Maglor went into the sea. To clean his hair, basic hygiene, but the waves had other plans. From outside, the current had not looked strong, but it took him away. The lonely wanderer did try to fight, but he was loosing sight of the shore. His pack and clothes were dragging him under and he was tasting salt on his lips. He wanted to scream, to cry, to weep. He did not want to die. Panic enclosed him as the salty sea water filled his mouth. He had loved her and now she was killing him. The story of his bitter life.

Just as his  light began to fade, something grabbed him and pulled him up. Strong hands were clutching him and grabbing at him. Maglor had no strength left and let it happen.

“He’s alive”, a voice said. It carried the distinct sound of an ellon speaking.

“Yes”, a female answered. She whispered on: “I never thought to see him again.”

Panic grew in Maglor again. These elves knew him. He pulled his legs up with and tried to make himself small. He kept his eyes closed, hoping these people would deliver his punishment fast.

A heavy weight settled atop him and Maglor nearly wept at the cruelty. Did they want him to get better before his execution?

“We need to get him out of these wet clothes”, the female said. “He’s going to die of the cold.”

“I do not wish to cause him further distress”, the male answered. Why was his voice familiar?

“Elrond, you are a healer, he’s shivering, get him out of these wet clothes or he will freeze to death.”

Someone crouched beside him and Maglor drew his knees further up, trying to hide his face.

“Ada, please. I need to get you dried up. Nobody is going to hurt you. Will you allow me to help you?”

Maglor opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw were white planks. He was on a white painted ship. The only white ships he knew were of Teleri make. Had he somehow gone back? Certainly not. Then he realized what must have happened. The current had taken him to a ship which sailed west. To Valinor. Where he was not allowed to tread.

A concerned face appeared in his vision. It was an ellon with dark brown hair, neither young nor old of age, with grace and grey eyes. His ears were a bit more rounder than usual, but who knew how the younger elves developed – “Ada?”

Who would call him father? Maglor had certainly never fathered any children. Then he remembered the twins he had stolen.

Elrond? His eyes widened in shock and finally the blessed darkness took him.

Many years later, in the peace of Valinor, Maglor went to the shore alone. It was the first time his son had allowed him a stroll without supervision, deeming him healed and better. Maglor felt like it.

The sea was calm that day and a slightly warmer current played around his legs.

“Thank you”, Maglor said to the waters. He knew now whom he was thanking. He was thanking the Vala and Maia of the sea, who had allowed him to pass to Valinor, who had brought him to a new home.

The sea remained quiet, but his message had been received. Maglor raised his voice in song once more, knowing now the  beings of the sea were listening.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Ulmo has lost his patience with the singer who sang to him and took matters into his own hands.
> 
> Thank you for reading. Kudos and comments are highly appreciated.


End file.
